


Dum Spiro, Spero

by northernexposure



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Action, Angst, Character Death, Darkness, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 22:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20244982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernexposure/pseuds/northernexposure
Summary: Perhaps, after all, it will end with a whimper, rather than a war.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More archiving from 2014. This is very dark and angsty, set late in _Voyager_'s journey. Beta'd, as always, by MissyHissy3.

There were times when being on _Voyager_ was so stressful that it felt as if the ship itself was at breaking point. There were times, of course, when it was. Seven years without respite for both vessel and crew. Seven years of running – away from something, towards something. The distinction hardly even seemed relevant any more, if indeed there was one to be made at all. Seven years of a journey with a destination so distant it occasionally seemed to be nothing more than a figment of the imagination. It took its toll – on the ship and on her inhabitants. How could it not?

This was one of those times. The mother of them all, really. The last battle, the final showdown, even though in the end it had come with a whimper rather than a war. Captain Kathryn Janeway sat in her ready room after yet another sleepless night, staring at a screen that resolutely refused to give her good news. They'd known for months that their stores of dilithium were running low. At first, they'd all been optimistic – they'd been in this situation before and something had always come up: an alien race with enough minerals to trade, a planet with veins rich enough for them to mine and refine themselves. Surely, something would come up again before things became desperate. As the time passed, they'd resorted to rationing, but the optimism, though dented, had remained. Then more time passed. Then still more, still without the needed solution in sight, still with the levels dipping lower and lower. The news had inevitably filtered out of the tight circle of senior officers and down to the lower decks.

Whispers filled the dim corridors, the lighting by then running on half-power for much of the time. In some ways it made it easier that the crew at large knew what trouble the ship was in. It made acceptance of the announcement easier when stricter rationing kicked in. For a time, anyway. As _Voyager_'s pace slowed to a painful limp, as the lights went out and even visits to Neelix's kitchen were reduced by command order, the crew began to voice the fears that stopped their Captain from sleeping.

Pretty soon, the ship would be dead in space. And then what?

Pretty soon, it was.

* * *

"It's too far."

"Captain, we don't have any other option. You know that."

She looked up at him. His face showed the same exhaustion that she felt. "Do I? And how do I know that? Oh – wait. Let me guess…"

"Captain…"

"We're going back to that again, aren't we? You're still questioning the last decision of mine that you disagreed with."

A shadow of the anger she remembered from weeks ago passed over his face. Oh, how he had fought her then. It had been their last true debate and their last proper conversation. The memory of it lay between them like an open wound, one that she couldn't stop probing though no good could ever come of it.

"All right," he said, keeping his voice even. "If we had landed on the last M-class planet we passed, this wouldn't be an issue. But we didn't. You refused to contemplate doing so. So now we are faced with this issue anew and now _this_ is the only solution."

She shook her head. "We couldn't do it. It would have been wrong."

"No," he answered, sharply. "No. _You_ were wrong. If we had landed, we would at least have had the option of –"

Janeway stood, holding up one hand. "Enough. We've been over this. We _went _over this. The planet was not ready for First Contact. It would have been in violation of-"

"Don't even try that one. Don't even _try_ it. It had nothing to do with the Prime Directive. You can lie to yourself, but Captain – don't you try lying to me. It had nothing to do with the Prime Directive. You were scared that if we put down, we'd never be able to take off again. Because getting _Voyager _home is more important to you than –"

He stopped short. They stared at each other.

"Say it," she grated. "Finish your sentence, Commander. That's an order."

His eyes narrowed, the growing fury in them radiating towards her like heat. His voice, when he spoke, was that of a stranger. "Getting _Voyager_ home has become more important to you than the welfare of your crew. _Captain_." Chakotay spat her rank as if it were a slap in the face. It may as well have been.

Janeway wondered, briefly, when this had happened – _how_ it had happened. How her closest ally aboard this ship had become the person who could wound her so deeply without even batting an eyelid. When was it that they had stopped being the first person each of them turned to, and instead became the first from whom they each turned away? It had been years, she realised, in that moment. Years.

Perhaps it was inevitable, she told herself. Command is a lonely place to be. On _Voyager_… well. It was everything pushed to the limit. Something had to give, sometime. What had given had been them.

"Dismissed," she said.

He didn't leave. Instead, Chakotay rested both hands against the edge of the desk and leaned forward, reminding her of his bulk. "I need permission to take the _Delta Flyer_ on this mission."

She glanced down at the PADD again. The planet the sensors had located was a four day round trip away at Warp Four. It had shown no signs of dilithium deposits, but there was plenty of vegetation. Meanwhile, a moon light years in the other direction held out hope of dilithium, but no atmosphere. Chakotay wanted to take their one remaining intact shuttlecraft to the planet to collect supplies. She knew, without him voicing the words, that he also intended it as a recce for _Voyager_'s final resting place. The ship was, to all intents and purposes, a wreck. They did not have enough power to reach Warp One. They could coast, perhaps, riding the last sparks left in the drive long enough to reach the planet's orbit. But then again… if they had the dilithium, this would all be moot.

"We can't do both," she said, tiredly. "The _Flyer_'s systems are too low on power."

"The crew has to eat, Captain."

"_I know that_!" She shouted the words and was shocked to hear her voice breaking, not at the words themselves but that she needed to use them. How could he think he needed to remind her of that? How could he, of all people- "Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I-"

For a second, she almost blacked out. It was as if someone had tilted the deck on which she stood at an angle acute enough to make her stumble. Her vision dimmed. Janeway felt her knees buckling and went for the desk, hands flat against it to hold herself up. The next second she felt a strong grip on her upper arms, his hands manoeuvring her into her chair.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Janeway waved a hand vaguely, the darkness hovering close, but at bay. "I had some of Neelix's leola root soup."

"He hasn't served soup for two days."

"I'm fine. I'm just tired."

Chakotay ignored that, and crossed instead to the replicator. "Computer, emergency nutritional supplement Starfleet Alpha-three, with additional iron and B-6."

"Don't," she said. "There's not enough power. That's an-"

The replicator deposited the supplement before she could finish the order. Chakotay retrieved it – unappetising gel contained in a compact silver bag – and tore off the corner even as he returned to her side.

"Eat it," he told her, handing it over.

"You shouldn't have done that," she said, as she took the proffered supplement and squeezed it into her mouth. It had a tang like orange juice, but far sharper. "That was a meal for someone else. Or a sonic shower. Or a bio-neural conduit for B'Elanna."

Chakotay dropped down to her level, crouching beside the chair. "You think you starving yourself helps the crew?"

His voice was the softest she had heard from him in weeks. Janeway squeezed the last of the supplement into her mouth and felt it slide down her gullet. She didn't look at him. "I'm not starving myself. I'm saving power. It's all I can do."

He was silent for a moment, and then stood. "Let me take the _Flyer_. If we don't run it at top warp it'll take longer, but we won't risk burning out. When we get back we'll find some way of harvesting enough dilithium from somewhere and I'll take it out again myself."

Janeway picked up the PADD again. She thought for another moment. "Very well, Commander. Permission granted. Dismissed."

He nodded curtly and walked to the door. Midway there he paused and turned back. They looked at each other in the rationed light. For a moment he was the man she had known, way back when hope was still something she wore instead of sorrow. Back when she had dared to believe that the future would be better, instead of worse.

For a moment it seemed as if they might apologise to one another. But it passed, as those moments so often did.

[TBC]


	2. Chapter 2

Chakotay took Ensign Nicoletti with him.

Two days later the vultures came for _Voyager_.

Janeway had expected something like it. She and Tuvok had discussed the fact that, in her weakened state, the ship would make an attractive proposition to any passing alien race that might feel like chancing their arm. The very state that rendered _Voyager_ all but useless to her crew was a red carpet to aggressors. For the ship, there was nowhere to run. Or rather, there was everywhere to run, but no means to do so.

Tuvok had staged battle drills every day since they had ground to a halt in the shadow of a large moon in a system that Janeway had made sure was uninhabited. Unfortunately, that didn't stop it being on the route of a race that harvested a mineral on the fourth planet that was useless to _Voyager_ but invaluable to them. Initial interactions seemed relaxed and friendly. The Captain got B'Elanna to coax enough power into the conduits to run the bridge at full capacity during her first on-screen contact with the Pyrie. Appearances, after all, were everything. This was certainly the case for their new alien acquaintances. The Pyrie were a small race, their diminutive stature made up for by their muscular bodies and the intimidating nature of their large mandibles and cranial superstructure. Janeway had greeted them cordially, as if nothing at all was wrong and Voyager was simply languishing at her current coordinates for a brief respite. The Pyrie had no dilithium, but Neelix decided he could make something of their foodstuffs.

The usual course of diplomacy and trade in such a situation would have been to invite their new allies to _Voyager_ to close the deal, but there was no way Janeway was allowing that to happen.

Perhaps, she mused later, that had been one of her biggest mistakes of all.

_Voyager_ was still in residence the second time the Pyrie called into the system, and the third. With each of their visits, the Captain's anxiety levels rose a little more, particularly when communications with the aliens all but ceased.

The fourth time, the Pyrie attacked.

* * *

_Voyager_ jerked as another rake of enemy fire dragged its way along her hull. Janeway clenched her fists as, on the view screen, she saw pieces of the ship's outer plating spinning like shrapnel into the void.

"Shields are down!" The hollow echo of Harry's voice delivered news that was news to no one.

"Bridge to Engineering!" Janeway shouted, over the hissing of severed conduits, "B'Elanna, can you get the shields back up?" Blood was dripping into her eye from a cut on her forehead. She wiped it away impatiently.

"Negative, Captain," came the chief engineer's voice, slurring through a communications system that had been rigged to run on less power. "I can give you power to torpedo tubes three and four. That's about it."

Through the viewscreen, Janeway could see the Pyrie vessel banking, preparing to take another run. "Do it. Now. Tom," she said, stepping to the pilot's side. "Listen carefully…" she outlined her plan in two brief sentences and he nodded, grimly.

"Captain." Tuvok's voice turned her towards him. "The Pyrie vessel's weapons are fully powered."

She moved to the centre of the bridge. "Harry, hail them."

A second later the sneering face of the Pyrie ship's captain appeared on the screen. Janeway wasted no time in preamble.

"All right," she said, raising both hands. "You know we can't take much more of this. Let's discuss terms."

"Terms?" inquired her counterpart, a hint of amusement in the gravel of her voice. "Captain, what makes you think you have anything to bargain with? You don't appear to be able to move, let alone fight." The voice hardened. "I want that ship."

"Will you agree to preserve the lives of my crew?"

The Pyrie captain tipped her head to one side, as if pondering the question. "I might."

"Give me your word and we'll surrender." The blood was trickling again, blinding her. Or perhaps she was just seeing red.

The Pyrie smiled, showing a row of sharp, rat-like teeth. "Very well, Captain. You have my word."

Janeway nodded, letting her shoulders sag. "Give us some time."

"No time," came the short reply. "Open your cargo bay doors and prepare to be boarded."

The Pyrie cut communication.

"Harry, do as she says."

"Captain…"

"That's an order, Ensign. Keep the Pyrie vessel on screen."

They watched in silence as their aggressors sailed closer. Theirs was an ugly ship, Janeway decided - pockmarked, patched and grey with age. Ugly. She crossed to Tom's chair again, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Not yet," she said, softly. Her head ached. "Wait… Wait…"

The Pyrie ship closed the distance painfully slowly, or at least so it seemed to those watching, breathless, on the bridge. When the shadow of _Voyager_'s port nacelle cast long across its bow, Janeway squeezed Tom's shoulder.

"Now."

Paris flew into action. His fingers slid and tapped on the console and a second later, the ship was no longer sedentary. _Voyager_ bucked forward at a pace she hadn't achieved in days. Tom pulled the ship around like a steer in a rodeo ring. The ship came hard to port, her starboard nacelle dropping as she swung, tossing the Pyrie ship out of her shadow and into her sights at such close quarters that Janeway could almost see the whites of her counterpart's eyes.

"Fire," she ordered.

The Pyrie got off a brief volley of charges before _Voyager_'s torpedo speared her tail like a fish. The enemy vessel veered around, lurching into a spin that took her out of control as she imploded.

"Tom!"

"Evasive manoeuvres, aye Captain!" A split second later he turned to her, a look of fear in his eyes.

"She's gone. There's no power left."

The Pyrie ship careened towards the port nacelle, sparking and spitting, a grenade tossed straight at _Voyager_'s unprotected centre.

_"All hands, brace for-"_

[TBC]


	3. Chapter 3

What use is there in repairing a dead ship? What purpose, if she is to travel no further? If the crew voiced these sentiments, they did so out of earshot of their Captain, who bumped and scraped and toiled along with the rest of them in the aftermath of the Pyrie's defeat. Whether Janeway herself felt any hope, none of them dared guess. What hope was there, in any case? The _Delta Flyer_'s mission now seemed utterly pointless, for even if Chakotay was to return with news of a promised land ripe for colonisation, how would they ever reach it? Would the escape pods be able to make the journey? It was doubtful. And if they could not, well – that was their last chance lost for sure.

For some, even that hope was futile. Not everyone had escaped the Pyrie's death throes. Neelix had succumbed to his injuries even as Janeway had stood by his side in sickbay, watching the life ebb from his body along with the smile he had strived to keep in place throughout. The weight of his death was a crushing, unimaginable blow.

Janeway wished there was a way of contacting the out-of-range _Delta Flyer_. She wanted to recall Chakotay and Nicoletti immediately, with or without fresh supplies. _Voyager_ needed her people – her remaining people – with her, not fragmented. For all the good it would do.

_He was right_, Janeway told herself, staring dumbly at yet another fused cable in yet another blown conduit. _Chakotay was right, you know he was right. You knew he was right the moment the ship was too far past that planet to turn back and land. You should have told him. You should have apologised._

She made up her mind that she would. As soon as Chakotay was back, Kathryn Janeway would ask him for forgiveness, and hope that he would understand that her apology was for more than simply this last mistake. For a second, her tired mind wandered back to their last encounter before his departure. There had been no bridges built but she was reminded, suddenly, of the way his voice had dropped in timbre, just for a moment. A passing softness, one that she had once taken for granted.

Janeway momentarily struggled to draw breath. The air was thin. Power to the recyclers had been reduced, but even so, this was below the set parameters. They were running on empty. The residual power was almost gone.

She was about to start anew with the fused cable when Harry Kim's voice echoed through the empty corridor. He sounded more distant than the ten decks that stood between them.

_"Bridge to Captain Janeway."_

She tapped her combadge. "Janeway here."

_"We've just picked up the Delta Flyer on short-range scans, Captain."_ The long-range sensors had given up long before the Pyrie's attack, and something in Harry's voice made her frown.

"Is there a problem, Ensign?"

_"Ma'am – the shuttle appears to be damaged."_

She was already running. "Give me a clearer report than that, Harry!"

He couldn't. Ship-wide communications chose that moment to give out.

* * *

By the time she got to the bridge, the _Delta Flyer_ was on the viewscreen, the tell-tale claw marks of weapons fire raking up its sides. Janeway went straight to Harry's station, her fingers flicking through sensor reports one after another. _What happened to not burning her out?_ The readings from the _Flyer_'s warp core were dangerously unstable. Adrenaline coursed into Janeway's veins, her body's own version of red alert.

"Have you hailed them?"

"They appear to be experiencing difficulties with communication," Tuvok informed her.

"Try again. Keep trying until you reach them."

It took three attempts. Eventually a sketchy visual of the _Flyer_'s interior came into view. Chakotay briefly glanced up in acknowledgement, but continued working at the helm. Beside him, Nicoletti was equally occupied, the two of them juddering as the _Flyer_ threatened to shake itself to pieces around them.

"The core's too hot," she told him.

"Yes."

"It's going to fail."

"Yes." He thrust one hand up in a sweeping motion, sliding it over the length of the core's monitor. "Does _Voyager _have enough power for short-range transport?"

"Negative, Chakotay, we have zero power for transport."

He nodded, still not looking at her, as if he'd expected as much. "In that case we've only got one shot. Nicoletti, suit up."

"Sir-"

"Do it, Ensign. _Voyager_, the core is going to go critical at any moment. Nicoletti and I will suit up and exit the shuttle. If _Voyager_ can turn to starboard and open the cargo bay, we'll aim for it with our suit thrusters. There should be just enough time to move _Voyager_ at half-impulse to escape the core breach shockwave after we've made it home."

"Negative, Commander." A cold finger of fear probed at her heart. "_Voyager _has no engines. We don't even have thrusters. We can't move."

He looked at her then. Later, she would remember his eyes at that moment. How he had known, even before she had.

"Nothing?"

"We were attacked. We've lost a nacelle and only have enough power for internal systems. Soon enough we'll lose the viewscreen too. Get out of there, both of you. Set the _Flyer_'s auto navigation to plot a course away from _Voyager_. We'll work out how to retrieve you both some other way."

Chakotay was still holding her in his gaze. Steady. Unwavering. "We don't have auto navigation."

Her heart froze. "What?"

"We're running on minimal systems. We were also attacked, Captain. We have no auto navigation."

The silence on the bridge was absolute. Janeway's heart refused to resume beating. An awful cold was radiating from it, tendrils of ice turning her to stone.

"Captain," Tuvok said, after a moment. "The _Delta Flyer_ is currently on a collision course with _Voyager_."

She knew that. _She knew it_. And so did Chakotay. She could see it in his eyes as he looked at her and went on looking at her. For those moments, he wasn't unreachable, untethered in the cold void of space. He was right there, in front of her. Right there, just a breath, just an arm's reach-

Chakotay spoke without looking away. "Nicoletti, have you got that suit on yet?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Get to the airlock. Evacuate."

"But-"

"Do it, Ensign."

"Warp core breach in two minutes, Captain," said Tuvok.

Janeway was rigid. She knew the order she had to give, just as he did. One life, for 130. One life, for her entire remaining crew.

But _this_ life?

_His_ life?

Why not hers? Oh, why wasn't it hers?

"Warp core breach in one minute thirty seconds."

"Commander," she began, forcing herself to speak. "You still have manual controls?"

"Yes, Captain." His jaw did not lock. He remained calm, his face impassive. "I know what needs to be done. You don't have to-"

"I do," she said.

"Kathryn-"

"_I do._"

When she gave it – that order, those words – the voice didn't sound like hers. It came from a long way away. The real her was carved in granite, staring at him, etching his face into her mind as indelibly as the lines of his ancestors had been etched into his skin.

"Commander Chakotay. We have no functioning shields. The ship will not survive a direct impact. I need you to manually pilot the _Delta Flyer_ away from _Voyager_."

For a second, she thought he was going to smile. "Aye, Captain."

The cold turned to pain, so suddenly that she was almost blinded by it. She couldn't breathe. Her legs were ready to buckle, but she forced herself to stand, eyes fixed on his face. She would not leave him alone, not in these last seconds of his life. What else could she do? Why was there always so little that she could do?

"Forty seconds to warp core breach," Tuvok said, quietly. "Ensign Nicoletti has reached _Voyager_."

"Chakotay." She said his name as if there were no reason to say anything else. There were tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Chakotay, I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," he told her, or perhaps she only read it in his eyes, because as her voice faded, the interior of the _Delta Flyer_ bloomed with flame. A second later, the comm. link was severed.

On the viewscreen, the explosion glowed an incandescent blue in the void of space. Silent, utter destruction, so swiftly executed, as brutally unexpected as all death. A moment later, the _Flyer_ was nothing but a halo of debris, radiating from where its form had once existed.

"All hands, brace for impact," Tuvok ordered.

Janeway left the bridge before the shockwave reached them. She stumbled through the doors of her ready room as the force pounded into _Voyager_'s unprotected hull. The ship creaked and groaned but held herself in place, intact, the distance Chakotay had put between them enough to limit further catastrophe.

Janeway walked to her sofa beneath the stars, blind with pain. She buried her head against its soft cushions and tried to scream, but something in her had been torn out so successfully that try as she might, she could form no sound.

[TBC]


	4. Chapter 4

The days following were long and painful, a blur of frantic repairs and muted grief. Janeway lurched through them all, a ball of raw, pulsing pain buried beneath her shoulder blades. She tried to hide it as best she could. She pushed it as deep as possible. There was no time for grief. The rest of her crew needed her and anyway, what right did she have to look for solace? In any case, there was none to be had.

When she slept – if she slept – she heard his voice. It came at her, over and over, like an incomplete mantra. Sometimes, if she exerted herself, she could make out words.

_Kathryn – please… Kathryn – don't…_

When she woke, her face was always wet with tears. She often had the sense that she was not alone – that he was there, somewhere, in the now permanent darkness of her quarters, though she could not see him.

And then she did.

His voice was still echoing in her mind as she opened her eyes to find Chakotay sitting beside her on the bed, as large as life. He was out of uniform, wearing the clothes he'd had on the first time they had met. Somehow she felt that was fitting, though he didn't seem as intense as he had back then. He seemed… at peace, which was strange to her considering the violent mode of his death and the fact that he was looking down upon the woman who had ordered his end.

Janeway simply looked at him for a moment, tears still on her face. She was afraid to reach out to him. She did not want him to prove insubstantial to her touch. Because she knew he couldn't be here. Not really. Whatever this was – whatever he was – it could only be in her head.

"Chakotay," she whispered. "Please – what? Don't – what? I can't hear you properly."

He smiled, one of those smiles that used to make her heart clench with something close to joy but now, in his dead state, further served to fill her with sorrow.

"Please don't suffer," he said, his warm voice soft, familiar – a balm to the sores she bore so deeply. "Kathryn, there's no need for you to suffer. Death comes to us all. It's not so bad. In fact, it's the opposite. No more pain. No more uncertainty."

"I wish there had been a way-"

"There's no need."

Kathryn moved to sit, holding the sheets to her chest and pulling her knees up, moving until the two of them were mere inches apart. She breathed him in, trying to catch his scent, but it wasn't there. Of course it wasn't. Her fingers itched to reach out, to trace the lines of his ancestors, but still she held back.

"You'll see me again, Kathryn. On the other side."

"Will I?"

"Yes. It's what my people have always believed and I wanted you to know that it's true. To make things easier."

"I can't imagine why you would want to see me at all. Not after-"

He smiled. "You have nothing to blame yourself for."

She shut her eyes. It wasn't true, but to believe it for a moment meant everything. For a second, she allowed herself to drift. To contemplate willingly letting go to step into oblivion and the peace of no longer having to handle the weight that was on her shoulders. For a moment, it was intoxicating. Yet she had more to think of than simply herself.

"There is so much to do. I wish you were here," she whispered, opening her eyes again.

His eyes broke from her gaze to trace the outline of her face. He was smiling slightly. "Still determined, even in the face of complete impossibility?"

"While the crew is still alive – there is hope. Isn't there?"

His eyes wandered back to meet hers again. In their depths she read a truth she didn't want to know.

"I can't kill them all," she whispered, her heart breaking anew as fresh tears pricked at her eyes. "Please don't tell me I kill them all. I'll fight with everything I have to save them. Until my last breath."

He leaned forward. For a confused moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She shivered, but the anticipation turned into another wave of pain and guilt.

He couldn't kiss her. He wasn't here.

He was dead.

"There is nothing to fear," he whispered, in her ear. "I'm here to tell you that what is ahead is better than what is now. Please don't suffer, Kathryn. There is no need for it."

"I can't just give up, Chakotay. If you ever knew me at all, you know that."

He leaned back, his expression sad. "Maybe that's the difference between us. You have blind faith in yourself. I had blind faith in… you. I still do."

Her heart clenched, and she blinked away more tears. In the millisecond that her eyes were closed, he had gone.

* * *

"I don't know what it was, Doctor, which is why I'd like you to run some scans." She was walking to keep up with him as he moved through sickbay. He had so much to do now and spent even less time offline.

The EMH sighed impatiently as he cycled through data on a PADD in front of him, checking off more of their dwindling supplies and moving on again. "Scans for what, exactly, Captain?"

Janeway stopped, tired of moving, tired of arguing. "I don't know, Doctor. Your superior officer has just told you she's had a conversation with a dead crewmember. What do _you_ suggest the scans would be for?"

The hologram stopped and turned to face her, looking at her fully for the first time since she'd entered sickbay. A second later he nodded and gestured her towards one of the few biobeds that remained unoccupied. "You're right, Captain," he said. "I apologise. Please, have a seat."

She did as she was told but the Doctor did not begin to examine her. Instead, he spoke to her in a low voice so that the rest of the room could not overhear.

"Captain," he said, gently. "Stress of the levels you – the whole crew – have been subjected to over the past days can produce all manner of effects. This, coupled with your grief over the Commander's death…"

She looked away, focussing on an imaginary point on the ceiling. "You think I'm just – overwrought?"

The EMH paused, silently suggesting that the word was an understatement. "What do you think it is, Captain? This apparition of Commander Chakotay?"

Janeway shook her head and looked down at her hands. "I don't know. I don't… as a rule, I'm not one to…" she sighed. "I don't believe in ghosts, Doctor. I'm a scientist. But this – this was so real. As real as I felt myself to be during the near-death experience I suffered myself, years ago..." She stopped, looking up at the EMH with a frown. "Doctor… You don't think there's a possibility that…"

The Doctor raised a tricorder to her temple, opening it to check the readings once it had swept across her cranium. After a moment he shook his head and lowered his hand. "The only brain activity I am detecting is yours, Captain."

She nodded, clasping her hands in her lap. "He was there," she said, quietly, after a moment, "as close to me as you are, and…" she cut herself off again, swallowing hard. "I hear his voice. When I sleep. Pleading with me. Begging me."

"To do what?"

"I never hear that part."

"He didn't tell you? This… apparition?"

"Yes. He told me that he didn't want me to suffer. That there was no need. It sounded as if he wanted me to accept death. Not just for me, but for all of the crew. Because what was on the other side was better, and because what we have now is so painful." She paused, blinking. "He was always more spiritual than I am, but still…"

The Doctor smiled. "Well, Captain. I have to say that I don't believe in ghosts, either. But I do believe in the hidden depths of the human mind."

"What do you mean?"

"What you experienced… was your own subconscious. It is anathema for you to accept that _Voyager _and her crew have reached the end of their journey. It is in your nature to refute that eventuality, even in the face of overwhelming odds. But somewhere in your mind," he leaned even closer, glancing around at his other patients to make sure no one would hear, "perhaps you are beginning to tell yourself the truth. To accept our situation."

Janeway leaned back, studying the hologram's face. "I will never 'accept' our situation, Doctor. We – the lucky ones – are still alive. And while we are alive, there is still hope. Never forget that."

The Doctor smiled and nodded. "And that is why you are the best captain I have ever served with."

"I, Doctor, am the _only_ captain you've ever served with."

He turned away with a small smile. "I can give you a light sedative to aid your sleep."

For a second, Janeway almost baulked at the suggestion. Chakotay's voice was the last echo of him she had. She didn't want to let it go, that voice in her dreams that she couldn't quite hear well enough, just as she couldn't let go of the nagging sensation that there was something in his words that she needed to hear – something that his 'ghost' had not told her. And yet – if it let her rest, if it let her focus… maybe she could still pull _Voyager_ out of this well of misery? All it would take was a passing friendly freighter. All it would take was one stroke of luck… and a captain of sound mind.

Janeway slipped from the biobed, determination suffusing her veins. They weren't done yet. While they were alive, there was hope. And she was still alive.

The ship lurched suddenly, throwing her back against the biobed, its edge impacting sharply with her hipbone. The emergency lighting dimmed even further, flickering as it threw sickbay's inmates into silhouettes before stabilising.

The Captain ran to the wall, thumbing the manual communications terminal. It was all they had left.

"Janeway to Bridge, report."

_"Hull breaches on decks six and seven, Captain,"_ Tuvok told her. _"We are evacuating, but-"_

She didn't hear the rest. She was already out of the sickbay doors.

[TBC]


	5. Chapter 5

Starships are built with mechanisms to withstand hull breaches. It's vital for a vehicle designed solely for the cold, unforgiving voids of deep space.

Unfortunately, both forcefields and emergency bulkheads require power to operate – power that _Voyager_ no longer had.

They'd lost decks six and seven before Janeway even reached the stream of evacuees running for their lives. The ones that weren't running were trying to manually close the bulkheads that would save the rest of the ship. The force of the sucking void was shocking – Janeway narrowly avoided being ripped out into the nothingness of space along with _Voyager_'s badly needed escaping atmosphere – oxygen they could not afford to lose and had no way of replacing. Clinging against the buckling wall of the corridor, she watched in helpless horror as Vorik lost his grip. The Vulcan flailed, grasping uselessly at nothing as he disappeared into the grave of space.

She clawed her way forward, thrusting a portable oxygen tank at Mike Ayala, the only other person still living in her vicinity. The breather she was using herself could last another ten minutes, perhaps less. But if they couldn't close the bulkhead in a fraction of that time, they may as well not bother at all.

When the bulkhead finally moved, it slammed down so fast that she was unable to escape its trajectory. The last thing Janeway remembered before consciousness left her completely was the searing, unimaginable pain of her arm being crushed beneath two tonnes of tritanium alloy.

* * *

The Doctor severed the damaged limb cleanly and without undue incident. It left Janeway with her elbow and a smooth stump that, strangely, she could still articulate. Of course, there was no chance of making her a prosthetic replacement. There was no power to replicate the required materials and in any case, no time to spare between the increasingly frequent emergencies.

Kathryn was OK with it. At least she was still alive. At least she still had one good arm. You can do a surprising amount of good with one good arm and a hypospanner.

After the accident – the latest one – she slept more, which she found frustrating but that the Doctor did his best to encourage as a sign that her body was healing. He told her to sleep as much as she could. Tuvok added his voice to the Doctor's. The vulcan was now her de facto first officer, after all. Despite the best efforts of them both, Kathryn tried not to give into the frequent exhaustion – there was so much to do and so few of them left to do it and anyway, who among them wasn't exhausted and more deserving of rest than she would ever be?

Still, it became increasingly hard to resist the heavy weight of her eyelids.

After that first encounter with Chakotay, he visited her regularly. He became, in fact, a presence as common in death as he had been in life. She heard him in her sleep, although his pleas were always incomplete and only ever half-heard as she slumbered in her quarters or on the sofa in her ready room. When she woke, he was there too. Invariably, he would be sitting beside her with a soft smile that quenched her anxiety over the fact that, moments earlier, she had been unable to hear what he was trying to tell her.

At first, it was difficult to accept. She wondered what had happened to her mind, that it so regularly and willingly conjured this spectre into being. A scientist should not indulge in such flights of fancy so easily, she told herself. It was painful, too - so painful, to have him so close and yet know that he was still so far away.

Eventually, though, she realised that there was comfort in it. The only comfort, in fact, that she was ever likely to get. In the midst of all that turmoil, his ghostly presence became her well of calm. And it was costing the crew nothing. What harm could it do?

She no longer reacted with tears as soon as he appeared, either. Instead, his presence became a solace she started to crave. It was a heavy irony, one of which she was fully aware, that Chakotay dead was now more present to her than Chakotay alive had been for a long, long time.

* * *

_Kathryn – wake up. You've got to-_

She woke in her quarters and blinked into a darkness lit only by the stars outside. Her arm ached and there was an itch in the centre of her palm - the one that was actually now only a memory in her over-crowded mind.

Chakotay was lying beside her, tipped on his side, watching her with a slight smile. His presence had become so regular that it no longer surprised her to see him, wherever she happened to be.

"I've got to what?" Kathryn asked in a voice still rough with sleep as she turned towards him. She saw immediately that he was no longer in his Maquis clothes. He was, in fact, shirtless and barefoot, wearing only a pair of grey sweatpants. Instantly, a powerful memory resurfaced – New Earth, a morning when she'd accidentally caught him on the return from a run and watched as he'd half-stripped and tipped his head back to enjoy a sudden, refreshing shower of rain.

His smile broadened. "That wasn't me. I think you were dreaming."

Despite her best intentions, her gaze wandered down his torso, just as it had five years previously. His form was outlined in the faint light, a landscape of honed muscle and smooth skin.

"You're beautiful when you sleep," he said.

Janeway blushed, and was then annoyed at herself for doing so. It was also faintly ridiculous, she realised, to have such a reaction to the words of a ghost that existed only in her own mind. Those words could only be wish fulfilment. Had he ever called her beautiful in life? Yes, once. New Earth, again…

"As stumpy as I am?" she asked, actually coaxing a laugh into her throat as she lifted her truncated arm.

"You'll always be beautiful to me, no matter what."

She tried to say something in return and then sighed, her head against the pillow as she studied his face. "It's absurd."

"What is?"

"You're dead, and I'm still struggling to tell you how I feel. Why do we do that? Why do we always leave it until it's too late?"

He was still smiling. "It's not too late."

"You're dead," she repeated, tears finally pricking at her eyes.

"Touch me."

Her heart jumped. "What?"

Chakotay's smile deepened. "Touch me."

She hesitated. "But… you don't have form. You – you can't have. Your body has no mass, it-"

He laughed and to her shock she could feel the motion, vibrating lightly through the mattress they shared. "Don't be the scientist right now," he said, softly. "Trust me."

Kathryn swallowed, her heart – her battered, aching heart – now thumping with a different kind of pain. Tentatively, slowly, she reached out her fingers until their tips were almost against his chest. She hesitated, watching his ribcage rise and fall with breath he couldn't possibly need.

"Touch me," he whispered, again.

Her fingertips brushed over where his heart would rest. She drew in a sharp breath at the feel of his skin. It was cool, but with the warmth of life running beneath. He felt alive. He felt gloriously, beautifully alive. She slowly brushed the backs of her fingers down to trace his left pectoral, and then his upper abdominal muscles. She felt fresh tears on her face.

"I don't… I don't understand…"

He took her hand in his and squeezed it. "The effect is brief here," he admitted. "I can't sustain it for long. You are right that I have no mass – on this plane, anyway. But on the next – after death – it's not so different from life. I'm real, Kathryn. I'm not in your head."

Even as he spoke, she felt the hand holding hers drifting away, as ethereal as smoke. Her heart clenched with the loss, feeling it acutely. It had been so long since she'd touched him in life. Every casual expression of warmth between them had been extinguished long before his life had been destroyed before her eyes. Her hand, alone again, reached up to wipe away a fresh storm of silent tears.

"I miss your touch," he told her. "I miss making love to you in the rain."

Her hand froze over her face. A second later she dropped it and looked at him. "I – we never had that kind of relationship, Chakotay. We didn't… we were never lovers."

The smile he levelled her was impish, his eyes teasing. "You're not the only one who dreams, Kathryn Janeway. And now I can dream all I want."

She was suddenly assaulted by an acrid smell of fumes, her lungs full of them enough to make her cough. Janeway angled herself up to look around the room, coughing. "Is that burning?"

"It doesn't look like it," Chakotay said, sitting up and surveying the room. "Don't worry. Just relax."

The smell had dissipated as swiftly as it had come. She rubbed a hand over her face. "I'd better get up to the bridge. We've still got one internal sensor up there with minimal power. There might be something leaching into the conduits."

"Don't go," he said. "Stay here, with me. Someone else will deal with it. You need to rest."

She looked down at him, still aware of his bared skin, of the tiny trail of black hair meandering above the low waistband of his sweatpants. Her fingers still tingled with the memory of their passage over his muscles. "I can't," she said. "I'm the captain. It's my responsibility. And perhaps they need help."

"You've only got one arm, Kathryn," he pointed out. "What do you think you can do?"

She frowned and looked away, hurt but determined. "Plenty. Also, I need to get the Doctor to check me again. If you're not just in my mind…"

Janeway was halfway to her feet when an explosion knocked them out from under her. She crashed to her knees, reaching out to brace herself with both hands, forgetting that one of them was a phantom.

[TBC]


	6. Chapter 6

The bridge had gone. The final remaining power conduit had overloaded. The resulting combustion had been forceful enough to rip another hole in the hull. Helm, tactical, ops, Janeway's command chair – they had all been taken by space, and what hadn't been torn asunder was a pile of wreckage. The bulkheads sealed off this latest of _Voyager_'s wounds without protest, as if they knew that this was one battle the Captain was too weary to fight.

Like a caged animal she paced the corridor that led to the last remaining section of deck one, one hand to her forehead, trying to work out what to do. There was only one place to go.

The turbolifts were non-functional. Climbing between the decks with only one arm took patience as well as effort, and it took Janeway a long time to reach Engineering. She saw B'Elanna Torres as soon as she entered the cavernous space that had once been _Voyager_'s heart. Now, it stood silent and empty of the hums and clicks that were its hallmark.

"There's nothing left, is there?" she asked, quietly.

The engineer shook her head. "No, Captain. There's nothing. Nothing at all."

Janeway nodded silently. It was clear to her now that not even a miracle could save _Voyager_. All she could hope for now was to save her crew.

B'Elanna's pregnancy was just beginning to show and as her chief engineer stood before her, her usually ebullient features etched in grey with stress and tiredness, Janeway's mind was made up for her. Where there was life, there was hope. There was no life left in _Voyager_, but there was life left in the people aboard her. It went against almost every voice within her to give the order to abandon ship – but it was time. In truth, it was past time.

"B'Elanna," she said, quietly, laying a hand on Torres' shoulder. "I need you to start spreading the word. We're evacuating _Voyager_. I need runners to inform each deck now the comm system's failed. Tell the crew to move to their assigned escape pods. Tell one from each deck to meet me at deck one."

The half-Klingon frowned at her. "You're sure that's a good idea, Captain?"

Janeway dropped her hand and took a step back with a frown. "It's all we can do. If we stay here any longer, the life of every crew member is at stake."

"But…" Torres bit her lip, looking around the too-silent space of Engineering. "This is home. And who knows what's around the corner? Captain, tomorrow we might have a visit from a friendly race, or-"

"Lieutenant," Janeway said, firmly. "You have your orders."

"Yes, Captain," said B'Elanna, dutifully. "I'll see to it."

This conversation troubled Janeway as she returned slowly to deck one, which housed the pods assigned to the bridge crew and command staff. It lingered in her mind, nagging at her, though she wasn't sure why.

Chakotay was waiting for her when she arrived at her destination. She was somewhat relieved to see that he was fully dressed – in uniform, this time. It didn't stop her thinking back to their encounter earlier, in her bed – to the fact that she had been able to touch him, just for a moment, as if he wasn't dead at all. But the uniform had long ago formed a barrier between them that was all but impenetrable and what she needed more than anything right now was to be able to focus.

"God knows I want to believe that you are really here," she told him, softly. "Out of anyone I would want to conjure into existence at this moment, you would be top of my list. But-"

He took a step forward, coming close enough to loom over her as he always had in life. Janeway remembered, briefly, taking in his height as a bare statistic when she'd first read his file, way back before they had even met – before she had forced them all into this fateful journey. She'd sat at her desk and noted his stature, knowing even before he'd materialised on her bridge that he would be a good head and shoulders over her. Kathryn had contemplated how to deal with such a disadvantage – it wasn't a new predicament for her, she was used to being more diminutive than the people in her command. But he was Maquis – a renegade, a guerrilla. He would undoubtedly press such a clear advantage.

It had been one of the first things that had surprised her about him, how lightly he carried his size. He could have wielded it like a sledgehammer, but he had chosen not to, at least not with her. He had chosen, instead, to spend seven years standing behind her, like a wall. Like a rock.

She missed him. It hit her anew like a smack in the face. She missed feeling him there, just behind her. She had, she realised at that moment, missed him for a long time. Janeway blinked back tears and shook her head.

"I have work to do," she said. "I don't have time to talk now."

Chakotay smiled. "I know. I'm just… here for moral support."

Despite herself, she laughed. "Well, I guess I could do with some of that."

"I thought so."

"Don't suppose you've got a transcendental pot of coffee hidden under that jacket, too?"

"Sorry. You'll have to make do with me."

"Ah, well," she said, heading for the escape pod controls. "As long as there is coffee in the afterlife, Chakotay. Because to be honest, if there isn't – that could be a real deal breaker."

There was a pause, and when he spoke, it was very close to her ear. For a second, she could have sworn she felt his breath against her cheek. "Trust me," he told her, softly. "You can have whatever you want, Kathryn. Whatever you want."

She swallowed as her heart beat a little faster in her chest. "You seem awfully sure of that, Commander."

He chuckled, and the sound quivered through her. Suddenly, she felt his hands, resting lightly on her shoulders. She tried not to react, but the weight of them – the reality of them – was too much. She reached up with her one hand and clasped her fingers over his.

"I'm sure," he told her. "And I am looking forward to showing you."

She let go of him, forcing herself to concentrate on the panel in front of her. The escape pods had their own secondary system, separate to the rest of the ship. It meant they would still have power even in the event of a catastrophic failure in the rest of the vessel. She tapped in a few commands to the keypad, frowning when there was no response.

Chakotay looked over her shoulder. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. This pod seems to be malfunctioning." Ignoring the sudden ball of tension that spun itself into her gut, Kathryn moved to the next pod. That one was dead too, as was the next. She rubbed a hand over her face. "I don't understand. The pod mechanisms on this deck all appear to be frozen."

The sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor and she looked up to see Tom Paris approaching with a group of the crew.

"Problems, Captain?"

"Nothing insurmountable. The pod mechanism fail-safes appear to have been affected by _Voyager_'s power drain, at least on this deck. But that doesn't mean that the pods themselves are non-functional. They run on a separate system. We'll need to manually release the doors to each and then, once inside, we'll have to do the same with the docking clamps. Make sure each deck knows that, all of you."

Tom nodded, but was silent.

"Is there a problem, Lieutenant?"

"Abandoning _Voyager_ – it just seems… desperate, Captain. Where will we go? What will happen to us?"

Janeway stepped close to him, looking directly into his eyes. "We're survivors, Tom. We've survived for seven years and we'll survive for longer. All right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She nodded, squeezing his arm before she stepped back. "All of you," she said, addressing the crowded space, "I know this is difficult. I know we are abandoning the only home we have had for seven years, and I know the path ahead is unclear. But while we are alive, there is hope. Each pod should set its coordinates to aim for the moon mined by the Pyrie. There are facilities there. We will do what we have to do to survive. And we will survive. Is that understood?"

There was a muted murmur of assent.

"All right," she said. "You have your orders. Pass them on to your assigned decks. Get to it."

Tom still lingered, even as the corridor emptied.

"Mr Paris?" Janeway enquired, one eyebrow raised. "I believe your pod is on this deck, is it not? Section C?"

"Yes, Captain, it is."

She nodded and offered a smile of encouragement. "Trust me, Tom. This is our best hope now."

After a moment, he smiled back, and then nodded. "Aye, Captain. See you moonside, then."

He turned and walked away. Janeway watched him go, praying to any deity that existed that he – that all of them – would make the journey safely. Then she turned toward the pod that would eventually house her and Tuvok, once they had completed a check of each deck. Their pod would be the last to leave, as was only proper.

Chakotay was still standing beside the hatch, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"The Pyrie aren't going to welcome you with open arms, Kathryn."

"We have no choice."

"They're all going to have to fight for their lives."

"They're already fighting for their lives. At least this way, they have a chance."

Chakotay shook his head. "Are you sure that leaving _Voyager_ is the right course of action?"

She took a step closer to him, frowning. "Yes. And I can't believe that you don't agree. You're the third dissenter, Chakotay. Torres and Paris were doubtful, too. But I don't see what any of you imagine can be gained by remaining here. The ship is falling apart around us and if we don't leave soon, we'll all…"

He shocked her into silence by taking a swift step forward and raising his hands to cup her face, stroking his fingers over her cheekbones.

Janeway gripped his wrist with her one good hand. "Chakotay…"

"I'm being selfish, I know I am," he murmured. "But I can't see why you would want to survive this when you know what's on the other side. But I suppose I never was enough for you, was I?"

"Chakotay…"

"Just give me a minute," he whispered. "Just give me the minute you never let me have while I was alive. Can't you even do that?"

Guilt speared her heart and she froze, just for a second. In the pause he leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. They were warm, as alive as his bare skin had been under her fingers, and when he slipped one arm around her waist to pull her against him, she went willingly. For a moment, everything faded away – the desperation, the guilt, the fear.

But it wasn't right. None of this was right…

When the burning smell reached her, she pushed him away and gasped for breath, her hand flat against his chest. Janeway looked around, expecting to see flames, but there were none.

"What now?" she asked. "What – what's burning?"

Chakotay tried to pull her back to him but she moved away. "There's nothing, Kathryn," he said. "It'll just be the escape pod mechanisms – the manual override must be burning dust."

She looked back at him. "How could you know that?"

He shrugged. "What else could it be?"

"I don't know. But why do I have the feeling that you could tell me if you wanted to?"

It was his turn to frown. "What do you mean?"

"Who are you? _What_ are you?"

He took a step towards her, but she maintained the distance between them by taking one back. "Kathryn," he said, "You know who I am."

"No. Whatever you are, you are _not_ Chakotay."

He paused, looking as if she'd slapped him full in the face. "How can you say that?" he asked, a hurt look in his eyes. "How can you still hold back, even after I've given my life for you? Even when I've told you everything we could finally have?"

She shook her head. "Chakotay would never put himself before the welfare of the crew. He'd never let his personal desires come first. And he'd certainly never ask me to do that. He never did, not once."

Chakotay curled one lip. "Death has a way of changing your way of thinking, Kathryn."

"I don't believe it. I don't believe you. Whatever you are, you've got him wrong. You've got _us_ wrong. Whatever you've seen in my head – whatever it was that made you think he would kiss me in a situation like this – that has never been _my_ Chakotay." The figure before her took a step closer. "Back off," she said. "Enough of this. I will make sure my crew are safely aboard these escape pods and then I will get into one myself and leave this ship and you - whatever you are – behind for good."

She'd expected the phantom – or whatever it was – to grow angry, then, but it didn't. Instead, Chakotay's face took on a look of such infinite sadness that her heart turned over. Janeway looked away, steeling herself, refusing to allow any niggle of doubt to enter her head.

Chakotay was dead. Whatever she'd been seeing for these past days, it wasn't him. It could never be him. He was lost to her for good. And now she had a crew to get to safety.

She got as far as the curve of the corridor. Then all hell broke loose.

[TBC]


	7. Chapter 7

The force of the blast threw Janeway against the bulkhead, smashing her head against the wall. Stunned, she slumped to the ground as the air around her filled with deadly flying shrapnel. Something sliced into her cheek, narrowly missing her left eye. Finding her way to her knees, she felt arms around her, pulling her up. Once on her feet, she pushed Chakotay away, holding both arms up to shield her face, deaf from the concussive force of the blast. At first she thought there had been another hull breach, but there was no grasping lack of air, no pull towards oblivion. This was something else.

Then the smoke began to clear. The corridor ahead was buckled and twisted, strewn with debris and thick with fumes. One of the escape pod hatches was empty, she realised, but the other must have failed to disengage before its thrusters had been activated. Without shields, the effect had been catastrophic, burning through _Voyager_'s skin and igniting every one of the volatile bio-neural gel packs in the vicinity. The result was a blast that had mangled everything in its path.

Including Tom Paris.

Janeway, ears still ringing, ran forward as she saw him slumped against a bulkhead. His skin was grey and sweating, his eyes-half closed. A large shard of metal had pierced his chest.

The blood that poured from him was a torrent.

"Someone get the Doctor," Janeway barked, ripping off her jacket and trying to stop the flow.

Tom's blood pumped over her hands. He coughed, painfully, and there was blood on his lips, too.

"Hold on," Janeway told him. "Tom, we're getting help. Hold on."

His face contorted in pain. "B'Elanna…"

"She's fine," the Captain reassured him. "B'Elanna's fine. Everything's all right. Do you hear me? The Doctor will be here at any minute. You're going to be fine."

The blood kept coming, too bright, too fast.

"Where's the damn EMH?" she shouted.

No one answered her, but in any case she already knew it was hopeless. The Doctor's programme ran off power emitted by the ship. He'd been at full capacity for days, and they'd all known it couldn't last. He'd had to resort to the mobile emitter as his last remaining power source the previous morning.

If he wasn't here by now, he wasn't anywhere.

"Cap…" Paris managed.

"Don't talk, Tom. Just hold on. That's an order, Lieutenant."

He smiled, the line of red inside his lips in ghoulish contrast to the expression. "Nice try, Captain," he whispered. Tom managed to lift one hand and wrapped it over hers, forcing her to look him in the eye. "The baby," he said, with shocking clarity. "I really wanted to be a good –"

His words died with the last beat of his heart. Janeway watched his eyes flutter closed, and he was gone.

She stood, his blood dripping from her hand. To wipe it away seemed sacrilegious, somehow.

"It's over, Kathryn." Janeway turned to find Chakotay standing behind her, his gaze resting on Tom's broken body. "He's at peace."

She felt the sob before she heard it. It wrenched out of her throat, a harsh cry of pain and despair.

"Don't be ridiculous. He's not at peace. How could he be? When he died like that, when he leaves behind-" She stopped, unable to go on, turning away. Then a fury gripped her. "Is this all your doing?" she demanded.

_"What?"_

She waved her hand. "Every time I say no to you… every time I tell you I still have hope… I lose something – someone – else. Is that you? Are you killing them one by one, to get at me? Is this – is this _you_? Doing this? Doing all of this?"

Chakotay shook his head, expression half way between hurt and anger. "How could you think such a thing? Of me?"

"I don't know you."

"You do. You know you do."

Kathryn shook her head. "You didn't want me to leave the ship. You kept trying to get me to stay. You keep – _distracting_ me. Why?"

Chakotay took a step forward. "I told you. I told you the first time I came to you, Kathryn – I don't want you to suffer. Don't you think you've suffered enough? Don't you think _they_ have?" He gestured towards Tom's body, but she couldn't bear to look. "I just want what's best for you. And I know I can make you happy, Kathryn. Don't you want the chance to see just how I can do that?"

She backed away. Her head hurt, her eyes stung and she was so tired. _So tired_. It was so difficult to think.

"I just want to save the crew," she whispered. "Just let me save the crew."

"Okay. What if I told you I can help you do that?"

She shook her head. "If you are Chakotay and you could have done that, you would have already done so by now."

He stepped forward again - moving slowly, inexorably toward her. "All right. I'll admit, I haven't been entirely truthful with you."

"I knew that already."

"I _am_ Chakotay. I promise you that. And I promise that everything I've told you is true. You can have whatever you want."

"But?"

"No buts. You just have to relax, that's all. Not everything has to be a struggle, Kathryn. Not everything has to be a fight."

She was against the buckled wall now, eyes half-closed, leaning against it as if it could hold her up. "I don't understand…"

Chakotay moved to stand close. Then he leaned down and whispered in her ear. "None of this is real, Kathryn. With the exception of me and you, our crew is fine."

She looked up, straight into his eyes. "Fine?"

Chakotay smiled. "Yes."

"Tom's still alive?"

"Yes."

She looked around. "But… what, then? Where am I?"

He raised one hand and brushed his fingers across her cheekbone. "With me, Kathryn. You're with me."

Her brain was working overtime, trying to work it out. "So – I was injured? When the Pyrie ship-"

"Yes. Fatally so. But you're still clinging to life. And it's hard for them – the crew. You've lingered – so badly hurt, but still refusing to let go. You always were a fighter, Kathryn Janeway. That's why I'm here. To make it easier."

She frowned. "So – Neelix's death, Vorik's death, Tom's death – none of that actually happened?"

"Exactly."

"They're alive?" Relief poured into her heart, followed almost immediately by suspicion and abject anger. She pushed him away. "But – why? Why would you do that? Why would you make me think that-"

"I knew you wouldn't let go until you thought you had exhausted every option," Chakotay told her. "Like I said, you're a fighter. You don't know when to quit. I thought that if I could finally show you that there was no way to survive, you'd eventually accept that you'd done all you could."

She stared at him. "And you think this… this façade… has been an act of _kindness_?"

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "I did what I thought was best. For you. For the crew. You're hurting them, Kathryn. They can't move on while you're still there, lingering helplessly in sickbay. But there is no hope. None."

She went to step away, the leaden pain in her head swelling and swelling. Chakotay's arm reached out to catch her around the waist, pulling her against him. "I know this is painful," he said, gently. "This truth. This slow dissolving, this gradual loss." His lips brushed against her cheek. "But you did all you could, Kathryn. It's time to let go."

The urge to relax against him was strong. She was so tired, an exhaustion so bone-deep that it was as if her skeleton was coated with lead.

"Be with me," he whispered. "Let everything else fade away. Just be with me."

His lips touched hers again: warm, gentle. He moved his mouth to her cheek and then her earlobe, pulling it gently between his lips. "Isn't this better?" he whispered, holding her close. "Isn't this better than struggling?"

It was. Oh, it was.

_Kathryn – wake up. You've got to fight. Do you hear me? Please hear me. You've got to-_

His voice was so clear in her head that Janeway gasped. With it came the acrid smell of burning, forcing its way up through her nostrils and into her lungs. She pushed against Chakotay's chest and wrenched herself out of his grasp, stumbling backwards against the wall.

"That was you!"

Chakotay frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I heard you."

"Of course you did. I'm standing right here." He reached for her, but she avoided his touch, taking a step backwards.

"No," she said, holding up her hand. "No. Not _this_ you."

"Kathryn, you're not making sense."

She stared at him, hard, pieces of a jigsaw slotting into place in her mind. "No, but I think I'm beginning to." She shook her head. "You said this isn't real. You _told_ me it isn't. So what is real, Chakotay? You? I don't think so. I don't think you're any more real than-"

A blast of heat suddenly radiated at her from the blank wall behind her, so powerful that she flinched and turned toward it, though there was nothing there.

_Yes! She's moving – B'Elanna, she's moving-_

Kathryn snapped her head back around to meet Chakotay's eye. "That's the real Chakotay. Isn't it? He's not dead," she said, her heart pounding with realisation and hope. "What's happening? Where am I?"

"Kathryn, I told you – you're in sickbay. You're very sick-"

"I don't believe you. Chakotay – _that_ Chakotay, the real one – is telling me to move. He wants me awake. All along, he's been trying to tell me to fight. That's not the way you talk to someone who has been fatally injured."

The figure before her didn't answer, but as she looked at him, his face seemed to change. It was still Chakotay's features, but suddenly, somehow, she didn't recognise him. She was looking at a stranger that happened to be wearing his face.

"Who are you?" She hissed, squaring her shoulders and taking a step forward, adrenaline spiking. "_What_ are you?"

The Chakotay before her smiled slowly, a terrifying distortion of the gesture that usually brought his face alive. "Oh, Captain. I do believe you already know."

In an instant, he had been replaced. Chakotay disappeared, and the figure standing in his place filled her with so great a nausea that she almost gagged.

"Don't," she hissed, reaching out behind her, searching for something solid to grip. "Take off that face, you monster. Show me what you really look like, coward."

Her father stood before her, fully uniformed and as whole as he had been the last time this entity had taken his form. Admiral Janeway smiled.

"Oh, Kathryn," it said, in her father's voice. "You really will never learn, will you? I told you I'd be back for you. This time I tried to make it even easier."

She looked around, wildly, searching for some chink in the illusion.

"You could have been happy," the entity said, stepping closer. "You could have spent eternity with the man you so obviously desire. I could have given you the closest thing to heaven you will ever know."

"I told you before," she hissed. "I will never go with you. Do you hear me? You can throw heaven at me for all eternity and _I – will – never – give – up_."

"Ah, but you see," said her father's voice. "I don't need you to give up. Not any more. You've dallied in this little heroic fantasy of yours for too long, Captain. And now there's nothing anyone can do to save you. You're mine. It's just a matter of time – and not much of that, either."

The heat rolled over her again, white hot, burning. Suddenly she felt something across her legs and arm, a heavy weight holding her down, pressing against her. She blinked and the corridor around her was replaced by flames flickering in a well of darkness.

"Kathryn!"

She looked up through the smoke. There was the sound of something, sparks caused by a tool rather than the flames that seemed to be about to engulf her. Shadows floated somewhere above her head, indistinct shapes cast against a wreckage of metal.

Another flash and she was back in the corridor. Her father's face was gone, replaced once again by Chakotay's.

"Last chance, Captain," said the entity that wore his skin. "Burn alive and die in agony, once and for all, or spend eternity with this man. Which is it to be?"

She raised her chin. "While I breathe, I hope," she rasped. "He's alive and he hasn't given up. He's still telling me to fight."

"You're a fool," the entity spat. "You're both going to die, and there won't be any afterlife to soothe you then."

"Maybe," Kathryn whispered. "But you could never be him any more than you could be my father. And if I ever wanted anything, it was him, not just my idea of him."

"Burn, then," hissed the entity. "_Burn_."

[TBC]


	8. Chapter 8

She breathed in, taking with the meagre air a mouthful of hot smoke that scorched her throat and lungs. She choked, coughing, the motion wracking her trapped body. Something was pinning her down, a heavy weight on her already constricted lungs.

"Kathryn!"

His voice came at her over the crackle of flames, through an orange light that tainted the fumes around her with a sickly toxic glow.

"Chakotay?" She croaked, gasping.

"Yes!" The relief in his voice was palpable. "Captain, we're here. We're trying to get you out. Just stay with us. Please stay with us."

"I can't… I can't move."

"We'll get you out," came Chakotay's voice, again, after a brief pause. "B'Elanna's-"

His words were drowned out by the roar of a growing fire. Janeway turned her head and lifted her shoulders, trying to see. Flames crackled a few feet away, their anger illuminating a festival of wreckage. She was lying on her back beneath what might once have been a bulkhead, but was now merely twisted metal. More ruined shapes were piled around her, glinting in the fire's harsh light. The heat was intense. Her skin was slick with sweat, rivers of it pouring grime into her already stinging eyes.

Janeway tried to move again, but the only parts of her not pinned down were her right arm, her shoulders and her head. She struggled, uselessly pushing against the weight bearing down on her, trying not to panic.

That was when the agony kicked in. It seared through her like flame itself, burning upwards from her legs until it engulfed her whole. She felt the white light of oblivion flooding behind her eyes and at its edges, absolute darkness. Janeway struggled to ride the torment, gasping for breath.

"Kathryn?"

She shook her head, trying to clear it. "Yes."

"Stay with me," Chakotay urged her. "I'm right here. We'll get you out. Just don't go to sleep, OK? Stay with me."

Janeway turned her head, trying to find him in the gloom.

"Here," came his voice. "Up here."

She tipped her head back. Several feet above where she lay, a criss-cross of metal formed another wall to her current prison. Through the darkness, shadows flickered, and Janeway realised that two of them were shapes she knew. Chakotay stood, hands gripping the barrier, his large shoulders leaning towards her as if his bulk alone could force its way through. Beside him crouched B'Elanna, operating some kind of tool, adding showers of sparks to the maelstrom of noise and flame around her.

They were trying to cut her out, Janeway realised. They were trying to cut through the wreckage to get to her.

She turned her head again, looking for the source of the flames that were eating their way toward her. Every furious belch from the inferno brought it a few inches further in her direction.

They weren't going to make it. The flames would reach her before they did. Or, even worse, at the same time.

_Burn then,_ came the echo in her head. _Burn alive._

Janeway pushed against the metal holding her down, biting her lip against the pain so hard that she tasted blood in her mouth. Lights swam in her eyes, but she blinked against the looming threat of unconsciousness. How long had she been here? How long had she been in that dream-state, when she could have been helping them help her escape?

She heard a yell of pain and frustration, rising over the melee like a scream. It took her a moment to realise the sound had come from her own throat.

"Kathryn!"

"I can't move," she shouted. "Chakotay, _I can't move_."

"We're coming," he told her. "Just hold on, we're coming."

"There's no time," she shouted, still pushing uselessly, energy ebbing in the wake of the pain. "The fire-"

As if it had heard her, another belch of flame erupted into the space. It fountained up towards her would-be rescuers. She heard a shout of warning from Chakotay, and he and B'Elanna disappeared, replaced by a wall of fire that towered over her. It subsided as quickly as it had appeared.

"Chakotay," she shouted, her voice hoarse, "B'Elanna?"

There was a pause, an absence more terrifying to her than the roar of the flames about to engulf her. Then-

"We're here," came his voice. "I'm here." The sound of the tool started up again and then a thump that vibrated through her prison. She looked up and saw that Chakotay was throwing his shoulder against the weakened grille, trying to force it to split beneath the combined pressure of B'Elanna's cutter and his own weight.

The flames roared again, a new spring welling so fierce and so close that she had to turn her head and shield her eyes, panting for scant breath.

"Chakotay, there's no time."

"We'll get you out," he shouted back.

"No," she said. "The fire – it's getting worse. Isn't it? It's spreading, it's-"

"Just hold on," he said again. "We'll get you out."

"You won't. Even if you get through, I'm trapped. There's no time to-"

"There's time," he told her.

She twisted her head and realised that the flames were forming a ring around her. Soon the ring would close, trapping her behind walls that no tool could cut through.

"There isn't," she said. "And you know it."

He ignored her, throwing his weight against the grille again. It gave, maybe an inch. Not enough.

"The ship can't lose her captain, her first officer and her chief engineer in one go," Janeway shouted. "Get out of here. That's an order."

She couldn't tell over the constant roar of the flames, but he seemed to have fallen silent. For a moment Kathryn thought he'd gone.

"You're right," came his sudden shout. "B'Elanna, give me the cutter. You go."

"No-" Janeway began, but the rest of her order died in her throat as pain swallowed her whole. It exploded behind her eyes like fireworks, blinding her, robbing her of breath, of time, of…

The next thing she knew, Chakotay was crouching over her, his fingers against her cheek.

"Stay with me, Kathryn," he told her. "I'm going to need your help. You have to stay conscious now."

"You have to leave. _Please_. Go, now."

He ignored her, instead running his eyes over the twisted bulkhead that had crushed her against the deck. Dropping the cutting tool, he gripped its edge and tried to heft it up. She felt it move a tiny amount. Not enough. The pain when he let go again took her breath away.

"I'm not getting out of this one, Chakotay."

His mouth was set in a grim line. "You will. We're getting you out. Help's coming, we just need to give them time." He looked around for a second before standing quickly and taking hold of a large sheet of dented metal, pulling it after him as he returned to her side.

"Listen to me!" with her one free hand she gripped the front of his jacket and pulled him toward her. "Please," she said, the words rasping through her burnt throat. "Please. I can't watch it again. Don't make me watch it happen again."

He placed his hand over hers, a frown on his face. "You can't watch what again?"

Kathryn could see the sweat trickling along the lines of his crow's feet. She remembered his eyes, so steady as they looked into hers while she'd ordered him to his death.

"Please don't die," she whispered. "Not because of me. Not-"

The flames disappeared, as surely as if they had been doused with water. There was a moment of absolute silence and then, from somewhere far below, there came a guttural roar. A rush of heat washed over them as the temperature rose even further. The air itself felt as if it was on fire. The sound built and built, deafening.

"Backdraft," Janeway gasped. "Chakotay, get out! Get-"

The inferno erupted around them, a wall of fire so thick it blocked out everything else. Chakotay lunged forward, dragging the sheet of metal with him. He threw himself over her, putting the sheet between his back and the flames, and himself between her and the metal. His cheek pressed into hers as the flames rolled over them. She could feel the tension in his broad shoulders as they pressed into her, the feel of his hot breath, erratic against her neck. The roar went on and on. She could feel the heat radiating from the metal behind him and knew it must be scorching his skin. She shifted her face, turning toward his, Chakotay's cheek sliding against hers until he drew back a fraction to look at her. She could see the pain, written in his eyes and in the tight clench of his jaw. If there had been any fluid left in her it would have turned to tears, but her eyes were as dry as her lips, as dry as the non-existent air around them.

He was going to die, because of her. They were both going to burn alive, just as the entity had said. Kathryn pulled her hand up, forcing it between them until she could touch the skin of his neck, still holding his gaze. Chakotay looked at her for another moment and then leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. She could feel him trembling and wound her hand into his jacket, holding on as tightly as she dared.

[TBC]


	9. Chapter 9

Even in her weakened state, Janeway knew the instant it gripped her that the transporter wasn't _Voyager_'s. The dematerialisation was too rough – it gripped too low in the belly and held on too long there before spreading to her extremities. In the instant before it took her mind she registered nausea, an intense wave washing up from her gut to her throat.

But it worked. It worked.

She rematerialised with Chakotay's weight full across her and was unable to bite back the scream of pain as he pressed down on her crushed legs. He wasn't moving – he'd finally lost consciousness from bearing his own agony on her behalf. She dragged his head up, cupping it in both hands as the sound of running feet approached.

"Chakotay? _Chakotay_! Someone help me!"

Tuvok was the first to appear, dropping to a crouch beside her as other figures – ones she didn't recognise, dressed in unfamiliar clothing – moved to surround them. They began to lift her first officer away, turning him over.

"No," she said, urgently, "he's burned – he must be burned, you have to-"

Tuvok reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. For a confused second she thought he was going to use a neck pinch to subdue her and started to twist away. Then she realised he was offering comfort in the way only a touch telepath could. The confusion changed its tone. Would Tuvok do that? Would he ever willingly touch her? Was this Tuvok, or another trick? Nevertheless, a faint sense of calm washed over her. She felt light-headed, but turned to look toward Chakotay's body, now lying face down on what seemed to be a gurney.

"Chakotay," she said again, hoarsely, trying to turn towards him.

"He will be looked after, Captain," Tuvok told her, gripping her shoulder harder in an effort to keep her still. "You are more of a concern at this juncture. Your injuries are severe. Please do not move."

Janeway suddenly realised that she, too, was surrounded by figures. This time, however, they were recognisable. Their powerful shoulders and cranial superstructures gave them away, even if their pale robes disguised their warlike natures.

"The Pyrie," she gasped. "Tuvok, they-"

"No," said the Vulcan said, firmly. "These are not the Pyrie."

"But-"

"Captain, you must relax. You are losing blood at an extreme rate. If you do not allow the Styx physicians to attend to you immediately, you may still die."

Janeway felt the fight go out of her, flowing from her veins as quickly as the blood from her injured legs. "_Voyager_?" she whispered. "Where is she?"

"Safe," came Tuvok's reply, though it echoed from a great distance, as if he was at one end of a tunnel and she was straining to hear from the other.

After that, nothing.

* * *

Janeway opened her eyes to birdsong and sunlight. Blinking into the brightness, it took her a moment of staring at the white canopy above her before she came to her senses. When she did, she sat bolt upright in a soft bed in a pale room with no recollection of how she got there.

"Captain!"

The familiar voice was accompanied by quick footsteps as B'Elanna appeared at her side. She was out of uniform, in a white shirt and pale linen trousers.

For a second, Janeway thought she was dreaming.

"B'Elanna? What's happening? Where am I?"

"At the Styx's closest colony. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine. The Styx?"

"The race that came to our assistance. After we'd been attacked by the Pyrie. You're not in any pain?"

Janeway blinked, raising one hand to her forehead. Pain? She remembered being in pain – intense, almost unbearable agony – but now it was completely gone.

"No," she said, "No – I'm fine."

B'Elanna was visibly relieved. "That's good. The Doctor will be back in a moment. He had to go and check on Chakotay."

Janeway froze in the process of shuffling to the edge of the bed. "Chakotay," she whispered. "How is he?"

Her chief engineer smiled. "He's going to be fine, Captain. You're both going to be fine."

Janeway swallowed hard. There was so much confusion in her brain – such a large chunk of memory missing – that she didn't know where to start.

"Tom?" She asked, "B'Elanna – is Tom all right? And Neelix? And what about Vorik?"

The younger woman looked puzzled. "They're all fine. All three are helping with the repairs to _Voyager_…"

Janeway bit back an exclamation. "_Voyager_? Where is she?"

B'Elanna smiled again. "Why don't you come and see for yourself, Captain?" She held out an arm in case Janeway needed support

Janeway let her feet fall to the ground, tentatively putting pressure on them. There was no pain as she stood, though her back and left hip were a little stiff. She took a step and reached for B'Elanna's arm. Torres helped her across the room – large, Kathryn noted, decorated in simple, calming colours of oat and wheat – to where a large curtain hung from floor to ceiling.

B'Elanna pulled back the curtain and sunlight flooded in. Janeway threw up one hand to shield her eyes from the glare as B'Elanna led her out onto a wide balcony. The building in which they stood had been built into the side of a cliff, overhanging a wide escarpment crowded with the spires and roofs of a large city. As Janeway looked out she saw hovercars and small space-capable flying ships zipping between the streets, a hive of advanced industry.

"There, you see?" B'Elanna asked, pointing. "_Voyager_'s safe, Captain. We're all safe."

Janeway followed the line of B'Elanna's finger and saw a spacedock hanging low in the atmosphere. In fact, there were several, each occupied by a type of spacecraft she did not recognise.

All except the closest one. _Voyager_ hung within it like a damaged pearl, suspended from a series of pylons and surrounded by scaffold supports. One nacelle was clearly badly damaged, and there were chunks of her hull missing.

But she was there.

* * *

At first, Janeway did not believe that any of it could possibly be real. After all, she had been tricked once and what was the saying? Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice…

It wasn't until she'd seen every member of her crew and heard the entire story – and after explaining her own to the Doctor – that she began to relax, just a little.

The first Pyrie ship had attacked, just as she remembered. _Voyager_ had managed to shoot her down, causing the damage to the nacelle, also just as she remembered. But that was the point where truth diverged completely from her recollections of events. After that, Captain Janeway had been out of action, lost somewhere in the wreckage of her dying ship as another Pyrie vessel appeared to take up where its colleague had left off. Tuvok, injured himself, had taken command, but it was clearly a losing battle.

Thankfully, allowing Chakotay and Nicoletti to take the shuttle had been _Voyager_'s salvation. Two days into their journey, the first officer had met up with a Styx vessel that had scanned the shuttle and determined it was low on power. The Styx's first act was to offer assistance. Chakotay, having determined that this race had dilithium to spare, wasted no time in taking these new allies back to _Voyager_, at which point they had intercepted the Pyrie attack.

The Pyrie and the Styx, it was not hard to see, had a history that went back far longer than the brief battle that ensued.

"Wait," said Janeway, who had been listening carefully as B'Elanna filled her in. "When was this, exactly? How long – how long since that first Pyrie attack?"

"Three days, Captain."

"Three days? Is that all? But…" she looked away, trying to get a grip on the passage of time.

"What is it, Captain?" The Doctor asked.

Janeway shook her head. "I thought it had been weeks. The entity… led me to believe that it had been weeks. So the fire-"

"You were trapped for about an hour, Captain," B'Elanna supplied. "We managed to find you, but couldn't reach you, and the Styx transporters were having trouble isolating your lifesigns."

"Another few moments, and there would not have been enough of either you or Commander Chakotay to lock on to," the Doctor offered. "You were both extremely lucky. And in the Commander's case, I might add extremely foolhardy."

Janeway gave a wan smile. "Oh, don't worry, Doctor. I'll be having words with the Commander myself just as soon as he's well enough to hear them."

* * *

"It was the height of stupidity."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"'Ma'am'?"

Chakotay raised an eyebrow at her. "I had a sense it was crunch time, Captain."

Janeway sighed, looking down at her sandaled feet. Her uniform had been cut to ribbons and _Voyager_'s replicators were still offline, so she had reluctantly resorted to the Styx's style of clothing. They had given her a wardrobe to choose from, and that morning she'd picked a long cream shirt and even longer beige skirt, cinched together with the Styx equivalent of a leather belt. It was comfortable given the stiffness that persisted in her hip, and also somewhat attractive, but didn't particularly lend itself to command. Tomorrow, she thought to herself, she'd wear trousers and a closer-cut top. Chakotay was also dressed in their hosts' style – a loose white shirt, open at the collar, paired with oat-coloured linen pants. He looked good. It suited him.

"You could have been killed, Chakotay," she said, looking up at him again. "We both could have been killed. _Voyager_ could have lost its command team in one go – and unnecessarily."

They were sitting at a small table in his room, which looked much the same as hers. Pale, calming colours, large windows, plenty of air drifting in. Chakotay looked out towards the balcony, a slight frown on his face.

"I can't apologise for something I'd do again in a heartbeat," he said, softly. "And if you think the crew would be less damaged by knowing I'd willingly left you there to die alone than if I'd died in an attempt to save their Captain, I suspect you are sorely mistaken. Do you imagine they would trust me with their lives if they knew you hadn't been able to do the same with yours?"

Kathryn took a shallow breath. Something was changing between them in the wake of _Voyager_'s almost-destruction. The hard edge that had separated them for so long seemed to have eroded.

He turned to her. "When we were trapped there, you said something about not wanting to watch it happen again. You seemed to be talking about my death. What did you mean?"

She looked away, uncomfortable. "Just something the entity showed me."

Chakotay nodded. "I'm sorry that you had to go through that again. I know how difficult it was to see your father in that way the first time. To see him again like that must have been awful."

Kathryn swallowed, still gazing out at the landscape beyond his balcony. She hadn't told anyone the truth about how the entity had appeared to her this time. It hadn't seemed relevant and she'd dreaded the knowing looks and the rumours, if the truth had been known. But with him…

"The entity didn't appear to me as my father. Or at least, that's not how he first appeared," she said, quietly.

She could feel Chakotay's eyes on her. "Oh?"

Janeway clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them, twisting her fingers together. "He came to me as you, Chakotay. First he convinced me that I had ordered you to your death to save _Voyager_. He made me watch it happen – a warp core overload in the shuttle. Then he began to appear to me as your ghost."

There was a brief silence. She knew he was still watching her and wondered what she would see on his face if she'd had the courage to raise her eyes to his.

"I'm sorry," he said again, softly.

She smiled, though she still didn't look at him. "What on earth do you have to be sorry for? He wasn't you." She sighed. "I should have known it. I should have realised it sooner. But I suppose…" Janeway stopped.

"You suppose what?"

She took a breath and looked up at him. "I found it easier to believe that you still existed in some form rather than accept that you were gone forever because of an order I had given."

Chakotay's eyes were fixed on her face. "You know that if that ever happened, I would understand. It's a risk we face every day out here and I accept it willingly. You know that."

"Yes," she agreed. "But do you really think that would make it any easier? It didn't, Chakotay. Especially not after the way we parted that day."

It was his turn to look away.

"Anyway, I should have known he wasn't you the first time he came to me. Something he said. He said you'd always had blind faith in me, which isn't true."

Chakotay looked stricken for a moment. "Kathryn, no matter what disagreements we've had - I've always had faith in you. I always will. Never doubt that."

She smiled. "But that has never blinded you, Chakotay. You've never followed where I've led without due consideration and you've never hesitated to tell me when I'm wrong. That's what makes you so valuable to me as first officer."

He looked down for a moment, silently acknowledging the point. "So," he asked, after a moment. "What _did_ make you realise that it wasn't me?"

She cleared her throat, willing herself not to colour at the memory of her fingers stroking 'his' skin. "Once I'd accepted that it was you in ghost form – which for me, in that state, was over days – he appeared all the time. I got used to it. Then one morning, I woke up to find you – it – in my quarters." She looked down with a sigh. "Something about the way you were dressed reminded me of something that happened on New Earth." She shook her head, correcting herself. "No, not even something that happened. Just – an incident. And then, a few minutes later, he said something. He made a mistake about the fundamental nature of our relationship. He covered it well, but it gave me pause. Now, I realise he thought what he'd seen in my mind was a memory." She brushed a hand over her face, hoping he wouldn't ask more questions. "But it wasn't."

Chakotay let the silence hang between them for a moment, and then asked the one thing she had been hoping he wouldn't. "What was it that he said?"

She sighed. "I don't think you really need to know that."

"Yes," he said, in a tone of voice that made her look up at him. "I really do. If it involved me, then don't I have a right to know?"

Janeway pushed out her chair and stood up, agitated and embarrassed. "It didn't involve you," she said. "It was just in my head. It never involved you."

Chakotay stood too, facing her with the chair between them. "But it was about me. Wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was about you."

"Then tell me what he said."

Kathryn put one hand up to her temple, knowing she was cornered. "He said, 'I miss making love to you in the rain.' But that never happened. It was just… just a moment on New Earth, when I…" she trailed off, cheeks burning with humiliation.

They stood looking at each other. Chakotay was watching her with an intensity that burned. Janeway had nothing left to say. She felt hollowed out, empty. She dropped her hand. "Look, I just came here to-"

"You'd been up late, working on those damn insect samples again," he said, his voice as soft as memory itself. "I woke up even earlier than usual. You were still asleep in your alcove, and I wanted you to sleep in, so I went for a run."

"Chakotay…"

"I must have run for ten kilometres that day. It was just so beautiful. The morning was warm even before the sun was fully up. It was only just tipping the horizon when I got back. It started to rain – one of those showers that used to come out of nowhere, do you remember? Warm, summer rain. I assumed you were still asleep."

Janeway's heart was pounding as she watched him. She tried to swallow, but couldn't. How could he pinpoint this so easily? How did he know-

"I took my running vest off and stood there, in the rain, and I heard a sound behind me. I turned around, and there you were, standing in the doorway. You were still in your nightgown, just looking at me. Staring at me as if you'd never seen me before. It's the only time in seven years that-" he stopped, smiled slightly, and went on. "Kathryn, it's the only time in all the years we've known each other that I was reasonably sure that if I'd made a move then, you would have gone with it."

At some point while he'd been talking, her eyes had filled with tears.

"I wanted to," Chakotay added. "I thought about grabbing your hand there and then and pulling you down into that wet grass."

Kathryn heard a sound from her own throat, something like a sigh, but more painful. "Maybe you should have."

He smiled. "Yes. Maybe I should have."

"That's what he saw," she whispered. "What I wanted to do in that moment. What I… imagined that we did." She shook her head, blinking away tears. "But that never happened. It was just a daydream I had years ago that he pulled out again, thinking it was a memory."

"I envy him," Chakotay murmured.

"What?"

He smiled. "Getting to see Kathryn Janeway's most secret thoughts. Especially that one."

She sighed. "What happened to us, Chakotay? Sometimes I'm not even sure we're friends any more. How did we go from… that… to where we are now?"

Chakotay said nothing, taking a step towards her, pushing the chair out of the way with one hand and catching her fingers in his with the other.

"It's my fault," she whispered. "I thought that being any closer to you was dangerous. I thought… I thought that letting myself… feel more for you than I should… would compromise me." She shook her head, feeling the tears slide down her face and doing nothing to wipe them away. "But when it came down to it… it turned out it was too late anyway. I can't tell you how much it hurt. I can't tell you how awful it was to watch you die, Chakotay. I would have died myself a thousand times over if it had meant-"

"I'm not dead," he told her, softly, tugging gently on the hand he held to pull her closer. "I'm right here. I've always been right here. Life out here is hard, that's all. It's always going to be hard."

She nodded. "Something had to give?"

"Yes. Just… next time, let's make sure it's not us."

"Is there an 'us'?"

He smiled. "I think there's been an 'us' since I first set foot on _Voyager_'s bridge, Kathryn. It's the fact that it's taken seven years for us to admit it that's the problem."

"Me," she corrected him. "It's taken me seven years."

Chakotay laughed softly. "Look at it this way," he suggested. "If what the entity gave you was the chance to see that you could give me the worst possible order and still survive it, despite what you feel for me – well, I for one am grateful."

Kathryn had nothing to say to that. Instead, she fixed her gaze on the buttons on his shirt. Reaching out in silence, she began to undo them, one by one.

"Wait," Chakotay said, catching her wrists and stilling her hands. "If you're going to do that, you should probably know that it's been a while since I looked the way I did on New Earth…"

"I just… need to touch you," she said, barely able to meet his eye. "The other you – the phantom you – he…"

She trailed off, but he understood. Chakotay let go of her wrists, resting his hands on her hips instead, watching her face as she undid the rest of the buttons and opened his shirt. His torso was fuller than she remembered – less honed, perhaps, but it could not have mattered to her less. Kathryn reached out, touching her fingers to his skin – his warm, intensely alive skin – and traced them along the shadow of his left pectoral, down over his upper abdominals. She followed the route she had traced over his ghostly self, replacing the memory with a new one – a real one, a true one.

Behind him, it began to rain. She heard the sound of drops bouncing off the white marble of the balcony, smelled the petrichor as it drifted on the balmy breeze.

"I'd like to think," Chakotay whispered, leaning very close, "that this planet is trying to tell us something about missed opportunities." He pulled her with him, moving backwards through the open doors and out into the rain, stopping when they reached "the centre of the balcony. Chakotay left a few paces between them as they looked up into the rain. It fell on their faces, upturned towards the stars they would return to, upturned towards the future.

They looked at each other for a moment, as if suddenly aware of what they were about to do. She wondered if he was expecting her to run – to back away as she had so many times before. He was looking at her steadily, waiting for her to make the decision, as if it were hers alone to make. But then, she realised, it always had been. He'd always held back. She'd always expected him to.

Janeway took a step forward and saw a flicker cross his face. They drifted closer, a mutual drawing together, a long-awaited moment finally reaching its apex. Kathryn lifted a hand and wiped away the rain from his tattoo as Chakotay's reached out and slipped his arms around her, drawing her against him.

"I've missed you," she said, quietly. "I've missed you for a long time."

Chakotay bent his head and kissed her forehead, and then her temple, and then her cheek. She wondered if he could tell that there were tears mixed with the rain on her face as she realised how different it felt to have him, rather than his ghostly counterpart, touch her this way. He drew back, just for a moment, looking into her eyes with a slow smile that made her heart turn over and begin to thump anew.

"What's that saying about good things coming to those who wait?" he said, into her ear.

"Frankly," she said, voice low and rasping, "in my experience, waiting is vastly overrated."

His lips closed over hers. Instantly she felt the passion building between them, the energy from seven years of thwarted chances unfurling from the ball of tension that had slowly wound between them with every interaction since the first moment they had met. He pulled her so tightly against him that Kathryn found herself on tiptoe as his hands stroked firmly down her back. Chakotay surged forwards, pressing her back against the cool marble, the sensation a sharply erotic contrast to the heat of his body. She lifted her hands and cupped his face before running them down his torso and beneath the vee of his open shirt.

Chakotay moved to her neck, trailing kisses along her jaw and down. For a fraction of a second, Kathryn opened her eyes and saw, over his shoulder, the long-suffering shape of _Voyager_ patiently awaiting repairs. She looked away, stroking Chakotay's jaw with her fingers before pulling his face back to meet hers for another searing kiss.

Because just for now - just for once - nothing else in the universe could matter as much as this.

[END]


End file.
